


A Special Affection

by prompt_fills



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst and Feels, Feelings, From Sex to Love, Fuckbuddies, Getting Together, M/M, No Strings Attached, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-07 18:43:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6819703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prompt_fills/pseuds/prompt_fills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="https://football-kink.dreamwidth.org/">football kink</a>, PP1, <a href="http://football-kink.dreamwidth.org/1203.html?thread=81587#cmt81587"> for this prompt in which an anon wonders about the power dynamic between Diego and Sergio</a>. It's about feelings rather than sex. Oopsie.</p><p>Ramos’ eyes bore into Diego’s. “So,” his smile is confident and the look on his face says he’s got Diego already figured out. When he places one hand on Diego’s knee, the touch burns like fire. Diego isn’t sure what pisses him off more, the cocky smile or the fact that Ramos is right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [barcabrony (freolia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freolia/gifts).



They first hook up thanks to Fernando. Well, Fernando doesn’t have much to do with it but still. Diego is having dinner with Fernando at one of the restaurants ‘one of Fernando’s friends told him about’ when Ramos appears out of nowhere, grinning wide at Fernando, kissing both his cheeks and accepting the invite to sit down at their table and join them, although he was ‘just on his way out’.

“Taking your dates to where I like to take you?” Ramos turns to Fernando, the grin never leaving his face, his tone friendly and teasing.

“And talking about work all night long,” Fernando retorts, easily, pointing at the notes Diego scribbled down during their dinner. He can’t help but feel like a cheap date, which is ridiculous because him and Fernando aren’t _like that_.

“Never had any class,” Ramos says to Diego in a low conspiratorial whisper, leaning close and invading Diego’s personal space.

Diego refrains from leaning back against his chair to gain some of that space back and surprises himself by coming up with a good reply. “Learned the hard way,” he whispers back. The rumble of Ramos’ laughter is a rich pleasing sound near his ear.

Then Fernando and Ramos get talking again while Diego quickly finishes the last bites of his delicious meal. He sips the wine and licks his lips that are suddenly parched. He can’t bear to be around the two Spaniards for much longer. Before he can make up some excuse to leave the two of them to catch up, Fernando’s phone chimes with a notification and his face falls when he reads it. “Excuse me,” Fernando mutters, getting up from the table, dialling someone’s number.

The mood at the table shifts as Diego watches Fernando’s retreating steps. Ramos’ eyes bore into Diego’s. “So,” his smile is confident and the look on his face says he’s got Diego already figured out. When he places one hand on Diego’s knee, the touch burns like fire. Diego isn’t sure what pisses him off more, the cocky smile or the fact that Ramos is right. The actual line Ramos uses doesn’t even register with him, he just knows he’s agreeing, hurriedly getting up, hovering awkwardly by Ramos’ side.

Ramos snatches one of the papers with scribbled notes, turns it over and writes down a note for Fernando, slips it under Fernando’s glass. When he turns to Diego, he’s already got his car keys in his hand, dangling them from one finger. “I’m driving,” he says in a flat tone that makes Diego’s hackles raise up.

“For now,” Diego croaks. His heart is pounding in his chest, a little voice in his head screaming at him in despair. He hates driving on his good days and he wouldn’t trust himself right now. Ramos looks self-assured, situation under control. Maybe it’s something he does often, Diego wonders.

Ramos leads them to his car, opens the door for Diego, forearms braced against the roof, forcing Diego to duck under him to get to the passenger seat. “You’re going to be fun,” Ramos breathes out. Diego feels a shiver run down his spine the same moment his stomach clenches with contempt for his reckless companion.

**…**

Ramos keeps laughing at Diego’s eagerness. It takes him about three minutes to find out just how much Diego gets off on being held down. Diego’s breath catches in his throat when Ramos mercilessly uses his full height to tower over Diego, walks them into a wall and grinds his hips forward, fingers curling around Diego’s arm and hip, holding him firmly in place.

Diego sinks into the taller body. He hasn’t felt this desperate in ages. He takes big gulps of the feeling as is crashes in a wave over him, drowning, _thirsting_. It’s a free fall and he’s taken the tumble. He blinks his eyes open, not sure when he closed them, and looks up at Ramos’ knowing smirk. With his free hand he presses back against Ramos’ ribs and he must graze against a spot Ramos has bruised during his last match because Ramos sucks in a breath through his nose, his muscles tensing up, lips parting in a silent surprise.

Something lurches in Diego’s chest as he cranes his neck, surging to press their lips together. He bites down carelessly on Ramos’ lip, gaining a pained hiss. Ramos’ grip on him loosens a little and its all Diego needs to take over. Ramos has no idea what he got himself into, obviously.

Diego pulls back to observe the effect he has on Ramos. He takes in Ramos’ dilated pupils and reddened cheeks, lips swollen from the bruising kisses. He closes the gap between their mouths again. He can’t stop marvelling how responsive the younger man is.

Ramos voice is hoarse when he tries to speaks up, “I think–”

“I give zero fucks about your opinions,” Diego says into the skin of Ramos’ neck, tugging impatiently on the fabric of Ramos’ shirt.

“Fuck, your mouth,” Ramos gasps, tilting his head to a side. If he’s surprised by the change of pace he’s not complaining. “Yes, off,” he obligingly lets Diego slip the shirt off.

Having found his footing again, Diego plans to enjoy every minute. He stills Ramos’ hands when they reach for his fly. “Patience.”

“ _Now._ ”

Ramos meets the urgency of his kisses. Diego’s burning thirst subsides.

**…**

Heading out of the practise the next day, Fernando catches up with him. They chat for a few minutes about mundane things before Fernando drops the bomb.

“Did you have fun yesterday?” Fernando asks him, the comment light, seemingly off handed but they both know what are they talking about. It throws Diego out of kilter because he wasn’t counting on Fernando knowing. Fernando’s eyes aren’t malicious but there is something dismissive in them. As if Diego didn’t know himself what a stupid mistake it was.

Diego startles, hand unconsciously reaching to his neck where Ramos nipped at his skin in retaliation before laughing and briefly pulling away, mumbling ‘too old for that shit’ and lapping at the spot with his tongue instead which brought him another breathless gasp from Diego. It’s simply been too much, the sensation of being pressed down to the mattress by the other body, and the rough texture of a warm wet tongue tracing haphazard patterns into his skin.

Fernando chuckles and clasps Diego’s shoulder. Diego quickly drops his hand down and schools his expression into something more neutral but it’s too late. “He told you?” It doesn’t matter but he’d still like to know.

“You just told me,” Fernando laughs again as Diego tries to calm his racing heart. He thought he gave up feeling like this a long time ago. And maybe he let Ramos have the upper hand for a moment of insanity back there but right now he does not appreciate the way Fernando is looking down on him. He’ll be damned if he lets his yesterday’s mistake with Ramos be a leverage Fernando has over him.

“Really,” he drawls, tone growing cold. He lets his lips curl up in a tight-lipped smirk and raises an eyebrow at Fernando, challenging the Spaniard to say it to his face.

Fernando glances away. “I just wanted to get you your notes back. Let me go grab them for you from my car.”

He nods, curtly, the balance between him and Fernando restored.

**…**

It’s not obsessing. It’s learning the enemy’s weak spots, it’s studying. It’s a tape from April’s El Clásico to review and Diego does so, a notepad in his hands, nibbling on a pen, eyes glued to the screen, watching it again and again, trying to come up with the best way to withstand Barcelona’s offence.

His eyes narrow at one repetitive move, then he remembers having tried a similar approach against Valencia. Fernando was the one who brought it up and they’ve discussed it just the other week. He searches for the right paper, finds it, scribbles down his new observation furiously, then runs out of space to sketch the defensive moves, flips the paper over – and stares at an unfamiliar sloppy handwriting that reads, _F, I’m stealing your date. S._

Diego feels the exact same mixture of annoyance and lust he remembers from the last time. He wants to wipe that smugness of Ramos’ face, wants to hear the needy moans again. His fingers itch to dial a number… a number he doesn’t have, damn it.

He wouldn’t have called first anyway, he reminds himself. If Ramos is in for another booty call, he knows how to get a hold of him.

He’s sure that however gleeful, Fernando would indulge him if he asked for the number. The knowledge lets Diego breathe a little easier and he unpauses the match, eyes immediately drawn to a certain temperamental defender. It’s an honest appreciation of his skills, he tells himself. His awareness of the other players, his attentiveness to the game, his aggressiveness.

Diego misses days when he was in the midfield, creating chances rather than trying to direct the games from the sidelines. He misses a lot of things that are now gone with his youth. Like that sparkle, that enthusiasm that radiates from Ramos from miles away. Ramos is so careless with it, taking it for granted. He even lets others, others like _Diego_ , bask in it as if he never worries it could dry up. Diego aches to see that exuberant delight first hand, to feel it again, thrumming powerful and untamed under his fingers.

**…**

It takes less than two weeks and Ramos is back.

Diego crosses his arms, leans against the doorframe and motions Ramos in. His lip curls in amusement as he watches Ramos kick off his shoes and promptly trip over his own feet as he tries to move further down the hallway.

Ramos’ eyes narrow when he catches the amused expression and he’s on Diego that instant, moving in one fluid motion so fast Diego barely has time to blink before his body is jerked away from the doorway and slammed against a dresser. The kisses are punishing, the hold Ramos has on him too tight. “God, yes,” he sighs.

Ramos eventually eases off his grip on Diego in favour of bracing his arm against the wall beside Diego’s head, certain that Diego will stay put for now.

Their lips meet again and Diego loses control of the kiss. Ramos’ kisses are demanding, his lips press into Diego’s skin as if they owned him. His hungry eyes speak of lust and Diego doesn’t deny them.

He yields to Ramos’ exploring tongue but sneaks his hand into Ramos’ boxers, nails digging into his skin as he palms his arse. With each second Diego is granted, he wants more of this.

“What the hell,” Ramos grumbles, tightening the hand he has in Diego’s hair into a fist.

Diego grunts and stops struggling when Ramos pulls at his hair but he’s enjoying himself too much to take the opening Ramos is offering him. They’re not going to argue, they’re going to fuck. Ramos gets to feel superior, Diego gets to feel alive again.

“What the hell,” Ramos repeats, and it’s still not phrased as a question, so Diego doesn’t reply. In fact, he’s thinking the exact same thing.

They stumble through the flat and Ramos tackles Diego to the bed, holding him immobile by his weight. At first Diego thinks Ramos is just humouring him and letting out his possessive streak, both hands on Diego’s shoulders, looking down at him, letting him know his strength. But the moment drags on for longer than Ramos should allow it.

Diego searches the Spaniard’s face and sees a flicker of something uncertain in Ramos’ expression. Diego’s pulse picks up and when he makes to flip them over, Ramos lets them switch their positions without any protest.

Diego’s fingers are dancing across Ramos’ chest and arms, following the sharp lines of his tattoos where they mark his skin.

Ramos’ eyes are staring _up_ at him, wide and dark.

Diego doesn’t feel like laughing. “You’ve no idea what you’re doing, do you.” He forces his hands to be still.

His right hand is splayed over Ramos’ chest and he can feel the mad beating of his heart. Ramos knocks his hand away and forces a chuckle. “Wanna bet?” he asks, voice coarse. He proceeds to show Diego just how much he knows what he’s doing but that’s not what Diego meant at all.

If there’s one thing he knows, it’s defence, in whatever shape or form it comes. But all of his hypothetical protests die on his lips, his concern melting away under Ramos’ touches. Diego stops worrying and just lets himself have this because he can already tell it’s not going to be enough, never going to be enough. It’s a mistake he’s going to repeat without a second of hesitation if the chance offers itself again.

That’s how it starts and that’s how it goes on for months, on and off.

**…**


	2. Chapter 2

It’s Fernando’s comment that wrecks the easy arrangement Diego and Sergio have.

He’s trying to make sure everyone knows their tactic against Bayern before the match begins and even he thinks he sounds like a broken record. His team is gathered around him, listening dutifully as Diego explains what he’s explained countless times before.

“Your games are always heavy on the defence,” Fernando chimes up and Diego freezes momentarily, then pretends the metaphor is lost on him and proceeds to motivate his guys to stand up to the German giant.

Fernando lets it go but Diego can’t stop thinking about the remark. Fernando has always been very observant and knows more from both sides of the story.

It’s not like Diego is exploiting his own player. Forcing himself where he isn’t wanted. Sergio doesn’t get any advantage on the pitch from doing what he does. He’s the enemy. And he keeps coming back to Diego.

He texts Ramos to come to his place, suggesting the day and the time, and something eases off in his chest when Ramos texts back a confirmative ‘ok’.

“Hey,” Ramos says with a smile when Diego opens the door.

“Hey, come on in,” he replies, stepping out of the way.

Ramos’ smile falls, a slight frown appearing on his face instead. “We could just,” Ramos says, gesturing to the car keys that are still in his hand, “you know, go.”

Diego snorts, shaking his head. “We can just as well fuck in here.” He jerks his head to the bedroom. “Save the gas.” He doesn’t feel like he could handle being in a car today.

Ramos is still frowning, so Diego adds, “I’m getting too old for the whole car sex gymnastic, you know. No fun in that anymore.”

Sergio shrugs off his jacket and offers a small smile that looks as if his jaw is hurting. “Sure.”

Diego follows him to the bedroom and curses Fernando six ways to Sunday because now Diego is overanalysing every little detail, every gesture, every motion, every change in the timbre of Ramos’ voice.

For the first time since they started hooking up, the sex doesn’t fill Diego with content. Ramos is weirdly subdued and quiet during their encounter, and even if he is as responsive as ever, it feels wrong, like he is no longer having fun.

“What’s wrong with you?” Diego finds himself asking, shocked to realize he cares. His tone shows none of the irritation he aimed for. He’s lying on one side, arm bent to support his head, watching with half-hooded eyes as the Spaniard’s breathing returns to normal.

“Huh? Nothing,” Sergio answers, too quickly, pulling his legs away from where they were entangled with Diego’s.

It’s a lie but it seems Sergio doesn’t think Diego should pry. Diego flops down flat on his back, side by side with Sergio. He’s embarrassed that he worries, that he finds it so easy to care about Sergio. “Yeah, whatever,” he raises his hand and waves it dismissively in the air in front of him.

An alarming suspicion creeps up on him. Maybe it’s not Sergio, maybe it’s him and that’s why Sergio is no longer having _fun with him_.

If Sergio doesn’t want to elaborate, doesn’t want Diego to be that person he could share these things with, Diego will deal. He’s not going to force his concern onto Sergio just because he suddenly realized how much he cares. Sergio matters to him far beyond the heated moments of passion they share but Diego won’t have to tell him that.

Diego may learned to trust Sergio somewhere along the way and that’s why the whole mess got so complicated but Diego stopped trusting his own judgement.

At least Sergio hasn’t forgotten the true nature of their arrangement. He shoots Diego a look Diego can’t decipher, then he gets up and quickly dresses. Diego does nothing to stop him. Why would he – Sergio wouldn’t want Diego to be solicitous of him.

He hopes it’s not his concern that freaked Sergio out, hopes Sergio doesn’t suspect Diego is growing attached. He will have to do something to show he does _not_ care.

Like not answering Sergio’s phone calls for two weeks, just because.

**…**

Sergio doesn’t give up on him. He never seems to give up on anything once he sets his mind to it but he lets Diego have his space and in those agonizingly lonely days Diego feels like he might never breath freely again.

About four days after he gets back from València, Sergio shows up in one of his flashy cars and ushers Diego in. The relief Diego feels is absolutely damning.

They smoothly tear through the city in that sports car and Diego soon stops trying to figure out where they’re going this time and starts wondering what the fuck is he doing here.

They leave the city behind, climbing up the steep serpentines to somewhere Diego has never been before. He’s admiring the view and growing restless.

Sergio checks the side mirrors and the rear-view mirror and the spark in Sergio’s eyes is the only warning Diego gets before the car turns sharply, slides, turns, slides, loses its grip on the road, slides, slides _and keeps sliding_ before it lurches again as the traction pulls them in the right direction through the hairpin turn.

The impact never comes but Diego can see it, can hear the metal plates caving in, the deafening sound of a collision ringing in his ears. He chokes on the sweet, nauseating smell of burnt brakes that isn’t there.

“Stop,” Diego gasps.

“What?”

“Stop the fucking car. Stop right now!”

Something in his voice makes Sergio listen to him and they pull over with less care than Diego would have liked. His stomach tilts. He closes his eyes, focuses on breathing.

Sergio’s voice is small but insistent, “I’m not a reckless driver.”

“I know,” Diego reminds himself.

A little shuffle, a soft clink as Sergio pulls the keys from the ignition. “I always have a perfect control.”

“I know,” Diego growls. ‘Deep, slow breaths.’

“I didn’t know you–”

Diego scrambles at the door handle, stumbles out and slams the door shut, cutting Sergio’s voice off. 

Sergio is out of the car in a flash, still talking, “–and I’ve learned how to drift before I even got my licence.”

The air is warm and smells of pine trees and Diego is still focused on his own breathing, leaning heavily back against the car. Sergio comes next to him, wearing a worried expression.

“I’m fine,” Diego wheezes.

“You’re all green.”

“Thank you,” Diego grumbles as if it was a compliment, and Sergio’s lips twitch up.

The Spaniard throws his arm protectively around Diego’s smaller frame and pulls him close so that Diego’s back is resting against Sergio’s chest. It doesn’t feel like he’s looming over Diego, it feels… nice.

Diego leans back into Sergio, head gently nesting in the hollow of his throat. It’s a marvellous thing to feel this protected even if Sergio has no idea why the comfort is needed.

Diego is shaking slightly still and Sergio holds him together. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“Don’t be.”

Technically, Sergio is still pinning him in place but it’s more in an anchoring way than restraining. And it feels good to give up some of the control to Sergio. He trusts Sergio with this. He would never take advantage, he would never see it as weakness.

Sergio seems to be willing to keep providing the comfort for the given moment. It’s a dangerous game but Diego lets himself have a few moments before he half-turns his head and silently asks for a different kind of comfort instead.

Sergio’s vice grip around Diego’s chest doesn’t give him too much room to manoeuvre but he twists his head and seeks those soft lips.

“You’re okay,” Sergio says in a quiet, husky voice. Diego keeps kissing him, not stopping to wonder if it is a reassurance or a question.

When they drive back, Sergio isn’t any less reckless with his driving than usual. Diego is glad Sergio isn’t. At least some things remain unchanged.

**…**

All Diego’s carefully constructed self-defensive walls come crashing down around him during a practise, one of the last they have at Calderón before they leave for Italy.

_Dinner on Sunday?_

Diego takes forever to answer and Sergio sends another text, _I’ll take care of the dessert._

Diego feels a traitorous smile flash across his face. _Sure you will,_ he types fondly and pockets the phone. When he glances up, Fernando is standing still mid-stretch, piercing gaze on Diego, like he can tell just by looking what kind of ‘dessert’ is Diego thinking about.

Diego glares at him and Fernando turns his head away but during the rest of the session, Fernando keeps looking at him funny. He’s probably concerned about how Diego is going to cope with the upcoming finale against Real. But Diego is fine, he has everything under control. Almost everything, anyway.

He makes sure the physio gives Fernando an extra hard time and insists on several more reps than necessary.

 _Gonna take you someplace nice,_ Sergio writes next. The boldness of the text catches Diego by a surprise.

A faint blush blossoms on his cheeks and he nearly types back ‘You always do.’ It would be true anyway, the sex with Sergio takes him places in his mind he didn’t know before. He always needs to have the situation under control and there weren’t many people he would trust enough to let them lead. Sergio is something else. Diego needs those moments, even if there are only few drops that don’t satisfy his thirst anymore.

They arrange the hook-up on the next Sunday evening.

 _I’ll be there at seven,_ Sergio texts and when Sunday comes, he shows up good fifteen minutes early. 

Fresh from a shower, Diego answers the door in a towel wrapped around his hips. Sergio visibly gulps and Diego’s eyes track the movement of his throat. “You need a minute to get dressed?”

Diego smiles predatorily. “No.”

Sergio’s eyes snap up to Diego’s face. “You’re not getting dressed?” He sounds confused.

“No. What’s the point,” Diego teasingly lets the towel drop just a little in invitation. Sergio’s eyes widen but the expression is all wrong and he’s even taking several steps back to the hallway.

“I just thought we might finally get that dinner.”

It’s Diego’s turn to be confused. “What dinner?”

“I’m an idiot,” Sergio stammers as he backs off.

It isn’t until now that Diego takes in that Sergio showed up all dressed up and it clicks that he wanted to take Diego _out_ for an actual dinner. He goes perfectly still, the grip on his towel so tight his knuckles go white. They don’t do things like that. Dinners or actual dates aren’t a part of their arrangement. Sergio isn’t interested in that.

Only, apparently, he is.

Sergio is quickly turning pale and Diego can practically _feel_ that precious spark dim and fade away to nothing. He reaches his hand as if he wanted to capture the dear essence with his fingers.

Sergio’s breathing comes in ragged gasps. His eyes don’t shine anymore, they have a look of _defeat_. The change sets in a matter of a few seconds and it’s as if someone pulled the plug.

Sergio’s whole posture is tense; his shoulders are slouched, his expression is closed-off and his eyes distant. The only thing that radiates from him is misery. “I think I’ll rather go,” he says in a shaky voice.

Diego finally gained the upper hand. This could be a final, ultimate win over Sergio.

But Diego doesn’t feel like gloating at all. Sergio breaking apart shouldn’t be the reason Diego wins. He doesn’t want that kind of power over Sergio. He’s pretty sure he wants to win something entirely different.

He didn’t consider this because he thought Sergio could be gone in a blink of an eye as soon as someone more interesting and more convenient showed up in Sergio’s life. He tried so hard not to get attached and when that failed, he at least desperately tried to make it seem he’s not attached. The heartbreak should have been his own, he was steeling himself for it in his mind. And now Sergio was saying Diego was more than an easy ride. And Diego made Sergio think he was being dismissive about the possibility.

“Sergio,” he says, the name torn from him like a sob.

Sergio keeps backing away hastily, trying to put some distance between him and Diego.

Diego moves on an instinct, closing the gap between them in a matter of seconds. His firm grip on Sergio’s hand holds the Spaniard back before he could bolt. “Sergio, I–” He doesn’t know how to say it.

Sergio’s sharp intake of breath comes with an attempt to tear himself away. Diego tightens his hold and tries to convey with his eyes what he can’t form with his words. “Sergio,” he tries again, “we need to talk about this.”

It’s a really poor phrasing and he knows right away he should have said something different. Sergio’s eyes flare up with anger and he yanks himself free from Diego’s grip with a surprising ease. Then he forcefully shoves Diego away and Diego stumbles back, glad he catches himself against the opposite wall.

“Please,” Diego gasps, holding his hands up once he’s regained his footing.

“Fuck you,” Sergio snarls. “What else do you want? You want to hear me say it?”

It must have been the impact against the wall that knocked Diego’s breath away. He can’t do anything but stare at the furious Spaniard.

“Well? Fine, then. You win. You fucking win, okay? Is that what you wanted? I’m an idiot because I thought – but it doesn’t matter now. There is nothing to talk about.”

It’s all so wrong. Sergio’s anger shouldn’t hurt so much and Diego’s thoughts shouldn’t be swirling around in his head in a disarray.

He can’t let Sergio leave.

Diego takes a resolute step forward. “We should talk.”

Sergio folds his arms. “Yeah, I don’t think so. Look, this has been just another mista–”

Diego feels like someone yanked the carpet from beneath his feet. He keeps talking over Sergio. “If I hadn’t freaked out at that hairpin…”

That shuts Sergio up and make his eyes go wide, easily confirming Diego’s suspicion.

“You weren’t planning on having a sex in the car, were you,” Diego finishes.

The fight leaves Sergio just as quick as it came. “No.” The admittance is quiet and sad. “I had some food in the car. Wanted to stop in this one spot that has a nice view of the city down bellow,” he adds slowly. “Are you going to let me go now?”

The tremor of Sergio’s voice does something strange to Diego’s heart. “Why didn’t you say something?” he asks softly. Sergio doesn’t respond to that, he only glances away. Diego can’t blame him. He would have never said anything either.

Diego tries to catch his eyes but Sergio seems intent on studying his own shoes. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Sergio looks up at that but Diego simply keeps talking. “You’re not leaving. You’re going to sit tight and let me get dressed and then we’re going to go for that dinner.” He pauses for breath and takes it as a good sign when Sergio doesn’t interrupt him. “We can talk in the car if you want but I need to know you won’t run out on me. Okay?”

Sergio gnaws on his lip but relents, “Okay.”

“Come here,” Diego breaths out, holding his hand to Sergio. Sergio wavers for a few nerve-wracking moments but then he peels himself away from the door and lets Diego pull him into an embrace.

Diego is clinging, holding on for his dear life. The warmth from Sergio’s body is soaking into his naked skin. He needs – he yearns to see the spark again, now more than ever. It scares him how easy it would be, to say the wrong thing, to do the wrong thing, to let Sergio make the wrong assumptions.

“Not going anywhere,” he whispers, half commanding, half promising. He cups Sergio’s cheeks with both his palms and leans in for a lingering kiss.

**…**

They meet each other a few more times in Madrid and Diego couldn’t be more pleased with the way things are going.

He’s tired of not having a place to settle. Madrid could be it, he thinks. A place in a world is where he feels at home.

“Glad you called me today,” Diego says. It’s liberating to say these little things without having to worry he might reveal too much.

Sergio kisses him deeply before pulling away. “I’ll see you in Italy?”

Diego raises an eyebrow. “Won’t you be supposed to focus on your training? No phones, no girls?”

“Lucky you’re not a girl, then,” Sergio says immediately, then he scowls. “Is that what you do to your team? Activating the no fun clause?”

“If something this important comes up, yes. I need everyone to have their head in the game, one hundred percent.”

Sergio snorts. “Glad you’re not my coach.”

Diego stretches and gets out of the bed, shivering slightly when his bare feet make contact with the floor. “You’ll weep when you realize you’re on the losing side.” 

“Uh-huh, sure,” Sergio snorts, “just you wait for Milano.” Then they both fall silent and finish getting dressed. It takes longer than it ought to because their hands keep straying away to touch the other.

Diego is glancing around the flat one last time to make sure he grabbed all he’s going to need with him.

Sergio is watching him from the doorway with a smile. “You know, I have a nice villa out of the city.”

“You do?”

Sergio blinks. “My mum does, anyway.”

Diego zips up his jacket and leans up to give Sergio a quick peck on his cheek. “Okay.” Sergio turns his head and captures Diego’s lips again. “You’re going to make me be late again,” Diego complains.

“Call me when you get to Milano?”

“Okay,” Diego says again.

**…**

Diego gets up from the bed. It’s early, so early that the sun is not up yet. Diego puts the kettle on and then stands in front of the window and watches the darkened scenery. The heavy shadows of mountains are in different position than where he is used to seeing them from Sergio’s place in Madrid. The rest is quite the same; the flashing lights of night clubs, the glow of car lights coming and going.

Sergio awakes at some point but Diego doesn’t hear him at first, too lost in his thoughts. He notices when Sergio wraps his arms around him from behind, pulling him close.

“Morning,” Sergio mumbles sleepily. He rubs his chin against Diego’s shoulder in small gentle circles. Diego hums appreciatively. “What are you thinking about?”

Diego frees one hand from Sergio’s embrace and points out of the window to the general direction of the stadium. “Winning.”

The puff of Sergio’s chuckle brushes against his ear. “Oh yeah? Me too.”

“Are you sure you’re not still dreaming?” Diego finds Sergio’s hand and taps it gently before twisting his fingers in a pinch.

“Would be a nice dream,” Sergio purrs, probably not even wincing.

Diego shakes his head. “I’ll make sure you won’t beat us on Saturday.”

“Wouldn’t like to be a sore loser, huh?”

“What do you know, fuckboy,” Diego grumbles, tone affectionate.

Sergio still freezes momentarily, just the smallest of hesitation that wouldn’t have been there before. Diego regrets his choice of words.

He thinks – he is sure that it’s the same thing he called Sergio back in the mountains when he was so desperately trying to turn the comforting moments at the serpents into what he knew, sex. What Diego thought was a wince from trying to hold up their combined weights against the side of the car might just as well have been a flinch at the nickname that slipped past Diego’s lips.

Diego turns around and mumbles a vague apology between the kisses. Then he lets his forehead fall to Sergio’s shoulder with a sigh.

**…**

Fernando catches him sneaking back into their hotel because of course he does. The striker is going out for an early morning run just as Diego tries to walk in through the back gate. When Fernando spots him, he takes one good look at Diego and his freckled face splits into a huge grin. He pulls his earbuds out of his ears so Diego can now hear the faint beat of some song Fernando’s been listening to.

“You’re up early,” Diego says tightly.

Fernando’s smile wilts. “Antoine keeps snoring. I can never sleep well when I’m stuck rooming with him.”

Diego makes a polite sound of being upset on Fernando’s behalf. “Oh. I’ll see what I can do.”

“That would be great,” Fernando says and keeps blocking the entrance. “So why are _you_ up this early?”

“I was just…” Diego begins, inexplicably feeling like he needs to explain himself to his own player. He trails off.

Fernando chuckles. “Looking for a way to take apart Real’s defence,” he finishes for Diego.

Diego has a feeling Fernando has known for a longer time than him and Sergio did.

Fernando finally moves aside to let Diego in. “You don’t need me for anything, right?”

“Wouldn’t want to keep you from your exercise,” he waves Fernando off. “Just be there in time for breakfast.”

“No worries, _I_ won’t be late.” Fernando looks at him smugly and Diego thinks he isn’t hiding how tired he feels very well. When he yawns, Fernando pats him on his shoulder, puts his earbuds back in and jogs away.

Diego makes it four steps before he pauses, looking over his shoulder to see if Fernando is really gone. Then he pulls out his phone and writes himself a note to ‘make sure Fernando ends up rooming with Antoine for the next season as well’. He takes a few more steps before opening up another note to remind himself to get Fernando earplugs for Christmas.

**…**

At the half-time, he catches Sergio’s eye during the interviews. It’s just a second or two before he lets his gaze continue to look over the crowd of journalists, seemingly disinterested in whatever is going on at the other side.

But the instant flicker of recognition in Sergio’s eyes, the way his eyes narrow, it tells him all he needs to know. He wants to look up again, look at Sergio, watch his chest heave from the exert. He wants to smirk and raise his eyebrow at him, wants to see the flush of his cheeks darken.

“El Cholo, can you confirm that–”

Diego re-focuses on the questions. They’re both used to the publicity. They know they can’t afford distractions… when they are at work.

**…**

Sergio picks Diego up in a rented a car. It’s a shiny red RCZ. It’s completely ridiculous and surprisingly responsive in navigating the busy streets of Milan where no one seems to care about the proper rules of traffic.

Diego cracks up when he sees Sergio pull over. “You–”

“Get in,” Sergio commands, grinning.

Diego gets in, buckles up and glances at Sergio when the younger man revs up the engine for fun while checking the mirrors for incoming cars. “You’re killing me.”

“Not purposefully. You’d know, I promise.” Sergio releases the clutch, speeds off, joins the traffic in what Diego would consider a kamikaze manoeuvre. Sergio switches lines haphazardly, then viciously honks at a Toyota that slows at the lights _before_ they turn red.

“A Swiss, of course,” Sergio says it like a curse, slamming the brakes in time to stop the RCZ about five inches from the round tail lights.

Diego’s eyes automatically check the number plate, noting that Sergio is right. He forces himself to relax into his seat. “You’ve got a thing for silver foxes?”

Sergio stops drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “What?”

“Are you actually trying to turn my hair grey?” Diego rephrases.

Sergio gives him a sidelong glance. “You look good,” he says, “don’t worry, everybody already loves you.”

“I’m not worried,” he assures Sergio, voice perfectly even.

“About the diner or the driving?”

“Neither your family nor your driving scare me, Sergio,” he retorts smugly.

The effect is somewhat ruined when Sergio takes the next right turn so sharply Diego’s hands fly out to cling to the dashboard. The sound that catches in his throat is anything but dignified. Sergio just cackles, makes a little whooshing noise and waggles his eyebrows at Diego. Diego wishes he wasn’t constantly reminded how young Sergio still is.

The car comes to a halt when they finally arrive at their destination, surprisingly in one piece. Sergio kills the engine and attempts to open his door. The car makes an unhappy _beep_ and the door remains stubbornly locked because Sergio forgot to switch off the lights. Whoever personalized the car must have been a lunatic. The car is fucking ridiculous and Diego opens his mouth to ask, not because he doesn’t know the answer but because he wants to hear it aloud, “What’s up with the car anyway?”

Sergio runs his fingers soothingly over the frame of the door before climbing out. “He didn’t mean it like that, baby, you can’t all be Ferraris.”

Diego uses the time to get out of the car before Sergio could do something foolish, like hold the door open for him.

“Ha, ha,” Diego deadpans but his heart is light.

That’s how it _really_ starts.


End file.
